i don't know about you
but as for me
i do a whole lot of talking to me
while all alone
alone but for the drone of dreary drums
as an aria arises from rows of reverent conundrums
and a symphony of sounds from such sorrow to which sadness succumbs
as my mind stoops over in order to pick up bits of my conscience crumb by crumb
i spend an inordinate amount of my life thinking about my lot in life
a thread, a thimble, a thorn, and a thin slice of tomorrow
a bed, being nimble, a horn and the petulance of sorrow
but what about the seeds as yet un-sewn?
and all of the needs the needy need that as yet remains unknown?
but at last, sans any roots, yet and still i am a tree well grown

grown of grenery and not by any means human bone
and is there a precise measurement for when a pebble becomes a stone
and a stone to a bolder
i mean did anyone ever space the weight between the two and put it in some folder
to be reviewed when he gets a bit older
i suppose, if given a choice i'd opt not to be a boulder but just a little bit bigger than a pebble sized stone
but just becaue i were only a pebble i still need my cell-phone
unless i don't like the boulder's voice and tone
and yes, i am and remain all alone
consecrated by convicts
a pacifist who cares not for conflicts
but right now i'm off to bed
to rid the ridiculous out of my un-quiet head
while beyond the white picket fences
Mrs. Delano sits as Mr. Delano comes up with one of his inane defences
so good night, and i pray the Lord my sanity to take
as Mr. Delano agrees there are too many leaves and tomorrowhe must rake
but if God doesn't rob me of my wits this slumber
and God knows that boulder must have my cell-phone number
then unfortunately when i awake i should be only semi-insane
and to make it perfectly plain
i'd prefer if i were in an instition for the totally insane
they won't even bother taking an M.R.I. of my brain
at least then guiltiness wouldn't be weaving its way into my medula-oblongata
oh, and I asked Jose the gardener if he had any money to pay a debt to me and he said
"nada"
but he commented that his economic status is because his hot wife buys a shit load of products by Prada
and for some reason he asked what was inside my head and the truth was, in my mind was also "nada"

you know.....rubbing me the wrong way ain't right
now damn it........good night
and by the way, if a grub is crawling on a tree but doing it incorrectly wouldn't that mean he was grubbing the tree the wrong way?
see, i can't keep a flood of inane thoughts such as that one at bay
so please, lash out the bright
and just say "good night"
(c) 2011.....~free cee!~